A Visit With the Mountain King
by Mollyscribbles
Summary: November and Perrault take a side trip. NovemberPerrault.
1. In the Hall of the Mountain King

Each chapter in this story was written in response to a seperate challange posted on the No Rest for the Wicked forums. This chapter is for Kytha.

* * *

The Grand Hall was massive, easily three stories from floor to ceiling in most areas, and had been created countless centuries ago by some sadly forgotten magician/artisan.

Its high ceiling was supported by hundreds of intricately-carved beams, each depicting some scene of historic importance in the history of the Hall. It was interesting to note that whoever first decided on this theme had thought ahead with regard to historic updates, as time passed; only the first few dozen had scenes depicted, the rest left blank and prepared for some future sculptor to continue this massive history record.

Perrault considered the priceless jewels that had been incorporated into one of the foremost scenes, showing a band of warriors returning to the hall in victory, newly-acquired treasures in tow. Though he could more than likely climb the distance required, it would prove to be more trouble than it was worth; the guards here were annoyingly alert. He returned his attention to the princess at his side, swiftly snagging her arm a moment before she collapsed.

November was unlikely to become any less sensitive to the various 'perils' around her, but at least was able to maintain her composure more than before, he observed with a small smile. Aside from a wince of pain and raising the affected foot to relieve the pressure, there was little reaction, and she hadn't carried on as she had on earlier occasions. Even Perrault couldn't help but wince in sympathy as he saw the bruising that already rose up her ankle. Swiftly removing her shoe, he dislodged a small, rather pointy pebble, which had fortunately stopped short of breaking the skin. He led November to an ancient bench where she gratefully took a seat, relief for the pain in her foot overwhelming any discomfort caused by the unyielding stone bench.

"Thank you for your assistance, Perrault." November leaned against him, relaxing slightly. Well, he was the softest thing there, only sensible.

"I'm very selfish in my reasoning, I assure you. Pausing here will not only add to the King's sympathy for our plight but also give me an additional moment to iron out the details of my plan . . . we simply need to convince him that we are but a pair of down-on-our-luck sculptors, yourself being an artisan skilled in work of such detail that not even the smallest chip of stone would be out of place in the finished work . . . then, when he provides us with the riches we must include in our work to give the full effect of the majesty of his reign . . . "

Perrault was interrupted by the approach of the Mountain King himself, who was beaming widely at the princess. "November! What a delight to see you again. How fares your father? It has been far too long since our last visit."

November smiled warmly at him. "Indeed it has, Uncle Alistair. I've been on the road for some time now, on a quest. . . it's quite a long story."

The Mountain King beamed at his niece. "You and your companion shall have to tell me all about it over dinner, and I'll ensure you have any supplies you require at the ready once you must depart." He gave Perrault a careful look, then leaned close to November and lowered his voice to a whisper. "A lord, you've managed? Don't tell your father, but he's a far better match than the commoner the messenger told me you'd been betrothed to."

Perrault stared at November wide-eyed as the Mountain King departed to make preparations for the banquet. She said nothing but blushed a deep red.


	2. The Great Feast

For Anime

* * *

The feast was every bit as splendid as one would expect from the Mountain King; every meal that one could imagine was offered, and all dishes prepared with only the finest ingredients. Such feasts were known and admired from far and wide, and not simply among those of the upper class who would be more likely to find a seat at one. With the amount of food used in each feast, it went without saying that not every dish could be eaten by the honoured guests. Rather than allow such delicacies to go to waste, the leftovers would be shipped within the hour to a dozen different town halls scattered across the kingdom, offering a free banquet to countless peasants.

Many leaders rule through fear, others are welcomed for simply not screwing up things in the kingdom too much over the course of their reign. The Mountain King was one of the very few who was genuinely loved by all, who was honestly a nice person, even to those of a class below him. He had always been November's favourite uncle, and without his influence it was likely she would never have handled her excursion into the world with as much ease as she did. Her chair was waiting for her from her prior visits, a seat of cunning construction that contained no hard bits at all. The silk covering had been woven into shape by trained silkworms one of his allies had offered as a gift from the Far Lands, keeping out any seams that might irritate November's sensitive skin, and stuffed with fine-combed cotton. November was able to fully relax into a seat for the first time in weeks, and far longer since she was able to do so out of anything but sheer exhaustion.

She turned to Perrault and smiled. He tended to be finicky at mealtimes, making a show of grudgingly accepting whatever was available, even if she knew it to be a food he was genuinely fond of. But even the pickiest of cats couldn't turn down the delightful product of her uncle Alistair's kitchens. The world in the regions they had travelled through thus far had been mostly long stretches of woodland with the occasional meadow or town breaking the continuity, and the only streams far too shallow for the tastier variety of fish to thrive. Some fish merchants would dig ponds to raise fish in, and go on quests to find anyone who could sell them the right kind of eggs. These fish would be tasty, but could rarely grow to a decent size.

The rapidly vanishing fish that sat before Perrault, however, was a whole wild salmon, smoked to perfection and displayed artistically on a bed of lemon seasoned rice. She could tell he was enjoying it greatly; Perrault's tail was twitching rapidly back and forth, and he couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to eat it quickly before anyone else could snatch it away or carefully savour every bite. November was enjoying her own meal, a Boneless Quail stuffed with grated rice. She had seen the section of her uncle's aviary where they were raised, and even the side of her that was highly sympathetic to every animal couldn't take issue with it. Boneless Quail had to be raised with great care and delicacy, and this one had undoubtedly had the most restful life possible for a creature with no natural defenses.

It took some time, as full meals are few and far between when you spend much of your time on the road, but eventually their stomachs were comfortably full. Scraping the last bite of food from his plate, Perrault felt ready to curl up in front of a fire, regardless of how it might look.

Ever attentive to his niece, the Mountain King made his way over to the pair. "I trust the meal was satisfactory?" he said, beaming.

"It was wonderful, Uncle Alistair. You've really outdone yourself." November beamed and looked to Perrault.

He seemed to be having trouble moving far enough out of his foody bliss to respond, but spoke up. "Absolutely superb. I can honestly say that I have never had finer."

Alistair grinned. "Wonderful, wonderful. Now, if you're up to it, shall we retire to my lounge? I must admit, I'm curious to hear of your quest."

November nodded. "Of course. It's been quite the adventure, and our other companion will no doubt be berating us when we meet up again, since we chose the longer path."

A frown at that. "You can't honestly tell me that you've found someone who would rather go through the Dark Forest than take the safer path? Even trained warriors won't take that route unless there is dire need to do so."

Perrault gave him a lazy smile. "Red will no doubt put further fear of the forest into any unfortunate warriors she might encounter on the way. She is not the timid type."

"Ha! You've chosen your crew well for this quest, November. Let's be off now, I wish to hear the whole thing from the start . . ." With that, Alistair started off in the direction of the lounge. Perrault stood and offered his hand to November. She accepted it with some confusion as she rose. The confusion was furthered when Perrault wrapped his arm around her as they started off behind her uncle.

He leaned close and whispered to her, "We must be keeping up appearances, after all. It wouldn't do to give him the wrong impression."

She smiled and wrapped her own arm around him. Appearances, yes. And it wasn't a situation she felt any need to argue, besides.


	3. An Exercise in Discretion

For Tidah

* * *

Perrault ran a gloved hand over his hair to smooth it, restraining his grooming instinct just enough to keep it within the bounds of polite human society. The twitching tip of his tail was the only outward sign of his nervousness as they approached the sitting room. It was not a world in which traveling strangers, even ones of standing, accompany princesses with pure motives. His best hope of survival would come from claiming that, at the very least, he intended to make an honest woman out of her and protect her from less noble ruffians on their travels. 

Not too much of an issue. Psychological manipulation was his forte, after all. It would simply be an exercise in discretion. He flicked a hair off of his jacket, then smartly stepped in, arm around November in an appropriate position. Not being accustomed to walking with someone else as such, there was an abrupt stop as his grip on November had to be tightened to prevent her from stumbling.

Once they managed to get themselves straightened out, Perrault had to pause and admire the room. It was every bit as splendid as the rest of the castle, and the magnificent fireplace was grand even by the standards of one who had become accustomed to finery. The marble edifice was beautifully carved, the stone seeming to flow like water around the hearth. Graceful mermaids and water nymphs appeared to swim through it, so lifelike was the carving. On the outer edge of the fireplace, a seashore was carved entirely from driftwood; everything from gulls to individual grains of sand could be discerned. The pieces of wood had been chosen carefully; no stain or paint was needed to render the different shades of each aspect. This in turn lead to the forest of hardwood paneling that took up the greater part of the study. More than once, Perrault felt the need to check to ensure a resting animal was, in fact, carved.

Above it all, the ceiling was a great glass dome – the tallest point in the castle, and the highest point for miles around. During the daytime, it was kept covered, but at night – ah, the view was unmatched.

Feeling November shift in mild discomfort, Perrault belatedly realized that he was still standing in the center of the room, gaping. He quickly ushered November to a soft-looking couch and hoped that he had not made a fool of himself.

On the contrary, Alistair looked more amused than anything. "Impressive, isn't it? I just love seeing the reactions of visitors. The funniest come from the stuffier nobles who spend half their visit boasting of how they wasted half the kingdom's treasury to build some grand knick-knack entirely from gems and gold. Make your shows of wealth tasteful but overwhelming, that's the ticket."

"Very wise, sir. You --"

Alistair held up his hand and cut Perrault off. "Now, now – there's no need for all of that. You don't need to overflatter me and try to butter me up. If November has decided you're right for her, that's good enough for me. Care for some brandy, or tea?"

November flushed again at this. "Really, Uncle. You've been far too kind to us. A cup of tea, please."

"The same for myself, with cream." His own preference aside, showing an excessive taste for alcohol would be a poor choice. Perrault was feeling somewhat flummoxed at being forced to take a new approach. Some fine cream would help him think.

Alistair poured the tea himself, unlike some nobles that came to mind who would rely on a servant to attend to every tiny detail. Perrault accepted the cup and took a sip, finding it to be cooler than most serve tea – as the King was used to November's sensitivity, it was only to be expected. November, in the meantime, beamed to see the familiar cup of her childhood visits. She still wasn't certain what materials Alistair had used to have it made, but the sleek design had always brought her comfort. Even the time that it had been chipped, the broken area hadn't been rough in the slightest. The tea was sweet with a slight tang to make it interesting, and the smooth flavour told of only the finest leaves being picked for its brewing.

"Now where were we – ah, yes. You were just about to tell me about your quest . . ."

November smiled and nestled against Perrault's shoulder, pausing a moment to dive into her memory for all the details her uncle would certainly want to hear. "It started when the moon dissapeared. You know better than anyone how sensitive I can be, and ever since that time it's gotten worse. . ."

Perrault adjusted his jacket to ensure he looked caring and cautious enough to keep the hard buttons away from her. Discretion, always discretion.


	4. Boots

"—and then once the children were safe, Red had nothing to say on the matter beyond expressing a desire to clean her axe properly," November finished with a smile. 

Alistair laughed heartily. "I can see why she gained a place on your quest with such ease. You must give her my regrets that she could not visit with you, when you reunite."

"We certainly will. I doubt she'll regret missing this – castles and finery don't tend to be her taste." Well, better to phrase it that way then mention her prior counts of property damage.

"More than my regrets – it's better to prepare a pack now before it slips my mind. You'll need supplies for when you continue your journey in the morning." Alistair grinned and rose.

Perrault, following suit, offered November his paw to help her up. She had sunk quite far into the soft material, and things could get awkward otherwise.

Alistair lead them out of the study and through a series of passages. Perrault did his best not to gawk and stare at the numerous wonders that they passed on their way. Finally, they reached a door at the end of a hall. It was fairly unremarkable, for the castle. Sturdy wood with iron trim, set into stone. But when he opened it, a vast array of travelling suppies was set on display. Any supplies a quester might need, from a journey in the dead of winter to facing desert sands. All were of only the finest construction and expertly maintained.

Running a hand along one rack about halfway down one wall, Alistair finally settled on one sword. Taking it down, he passed it to Perrault. "Here, test how this one feels for you."

Perrault pulled the sword from its sheath with great care. The blade was shining and perfect, unadorned with any of the fancy carving and gems that were found in the more ornamental blades. Quintuple-folded steel, polished until it shone like silver. It was undoubtably the work of a Master swordsmith. Examining the grip, Perrault found that it was't a nice coincidence that it fit his paw so comfortably. It had, in fact, been designed for one such as him. Grinning, he slid the blade into place. The case itself had only a dark beast twining around the black metal. A panther, he thought. "It's perfect."

"Excellent, excellent. Only the best to protect my favourite niece, after all. Now, let's see about some rations for your group . . ."

Over the next half hour, a medium-sized pack was prepared for Perrault. It was a given for all concerned that November wouldn't have one of her own, as even the smallest would bruise her shoulders badly before they got very far. Rations that tasted wonderful but would still keep well on the road, flint and steel, a few knives and a full coin purse to cover the cost of a stay in an inn or five were only the start of the treasures they packed. Perrault would not admit this to anyone, but he had begun to realize that, just perhaps, he should have prepared a bit more for the journey.

"Now that that's sorted away, I doubt you'd protest a change of travelling clothes . . . November, your shoes are perfectly suitable for the palace, but you'll need something sturdy and more comfortable if you're to be walking everywhere." With that, Alistair led the way over to another room.

This one was filled with boots. Rain boots, snow boots, summer boots, boots that would barely cover the ankle and boots that went to the knee. The leathers were perfectly tanned, and came from a wide variety of animals. Each pair was perfect and exquisitely crafted before being polished to a shine and lined neatly on the shelf with its mate.

Alistair was showing November a nice pair of cotton-lined ankle boots with good support, a conversation Perrault might otherwise find interest in. But he was lost to the world.

He was in heaven.

Even barely out of kittenhood, when he had to talk that idiot Pierre into getting him his first pair, boots had been a fondness of his. There was just something about them . . . the way they allowed him to stand taller than before, to command attention, to achieve whatever he wished.

As for the boots themselves – a miller's son wasn't able to afford anything too fancy, and the small village where they had lived wasn't the sort to offer a great deal of selection, even if there had been money to burn.

Once the 'Marquis de Carrabas' had his rule established for him, Perrault had called upon the cobbler as soon as they had one. Many very fine pairs had been crafted for him, but each one in this room put even their best work to shame.

King Alistair finished with November and looked to him with a smile. "I know a connoseur of boots when I see one. Pick what you like, and I'll have the royal cobbler adjust them to your feet."

Perrault was just aware enough of his surroundings to nod and voice his thanks, but his higher brain functions had blissed out at the concept.

He would gladly make his courtship of November real, even putting up with the hubub of a full royal wedding if it meant getting a collection of boots like this.

Much later, Perrault had managed to snap out of his boot-induced bliss and settled on one pair. He promised the others he'd be sure to at least visit them.


End file.
